Be
by KT the Shimmer Skank
Summary: Hermione goes for a midnight stroll to sort out her thoughts. A healthy serving of angst and smut. Slash, of course. Alternate POV added: Where was Fred? More smut, much more angst.
1. To Be

Notes/Warnings/Disclaimers: I don't own Harry Potter, don't make any profit; you know the drill. This is a one-shot, or stand-alone. This story is rated R for language and adult situations. Contains slash. I'm no stranger to angst, but this is my first smut-type story. Be sure and let me know how I did.  
  
Oh, fuck it all, I thought. The cold stone hallways of Hogwarts were dimly lit by glowing orange torches and heavy with silence. My cheeks were warm with salty tears. It's not like they really mean it, I tried to tell herself. It's not like what they say really matters. But it was all lies. I knew that no matter what I tried to convince herself of, it always mattered what Ron and Harry said. I was constantly pushing myself to the limit, just so I could make them happy. Didn't they know I would run to the edges of the world for them? Didn't they care that I busted my ass for them all the time, even when my feelings told me not to?  
  
They didn't. Ron and Harry only cared about Ron and Harry. Oh sure, they called upon my companionship when it was convenient. But when they wanted the circle of friends to extend only to themselves, I was easily cast aside. It was easy to disclude me because I was, after all, only a girl. It was a silent understanding between us that there were certain things Hermione could not be included in. It was understood that whenever Harry and Ron felt like being boys, Hermione would have to go somewhere else for awhile. Ron and Harry didn't seem to realize that there was no "somewhere" for me to go. They never stopped to realize that they're my only friends. They were completely oblivious to the fact that when I wasn't with them, I was utterly alone.  
  
They probably think I just sit idly in the library all day, waiting patiently until they need me for something, I thought callously to myself. Yet sadly, I had to admit to myself that that was partially true. I spent all my time in the library, burying myself in research. I bided my time until I could be of some use to Ron and Harry. I hated how I ran to them like an attention-starved puppy, even when they treated me like shit. But it was all I could do. I loved them, I needed them. They were all I had in this godforsaken place. At the end of every summer, when the beginning of school drew nearer, I was torn by the emotions within me. In one sense, I loved Hogwarts because it was brimming with intriguing knowledge that no other place could offer me. In another sense, I despised it because of the alienation from my peers.  
  
But worst of all, I was torn between my love and hatred for my two best friends. To them, I only meant a fraction of what they meant to me. They could never fathom how much I needed them. All my life I had felt alone. I couln't help the way I was. In Muggle school, I couldn't help that strange things happened when I was around. I couldn't help that I was always interested in things that everyone else overlooked. I couldn't help that I didn't want to waste time playing games or flirting with boys. I couldn't stop myself from wanting to know more about the world around me. I couldn't keep my head out of the clouds. And because of all these things that I couldn't help, so few people in my life had ever bothered to give me the time of day. Ron and Harry accepted my company, to an extent, and even though they never fully grasped who I was, I clung to them. You take what you can get.  
  
I wandered aimlessly through the darkened halls. I had no idea where I was going. All the halls looked the same, bedecked with ancient paintings and rusting suits of armor. It was nearly midnight. All the world was sleeping, but Hermione Granger was bawling and lurking in the hallways. I normally hated breaking rules of any kind, but at that point I was so frustrated I could have cared less. I almost wanted to run into Filch around the corner. The idea of getting in trouble all on my own, strictly for my own purposes and not for bloody Ron and Harry, was almost appealing. I pressed my palms against my sodden face and took in a deep breath. Just when I thought I was growing closer to them, they would make some sort of teasing comment, reminding me that they didn't really know me at all. It was too much. I wanted to believe that they cared about me; I clung to that hope like the edge of a cliff. But it was fruitless. They could never return the kind of true companionship I desired.  
  
I looked around me and saw that I had wound up in front of the library. I snorted. The irony was priceless. Of course my feet would carry me to the library. Isn't that where I always found myself when the world cast me aside? Hell, I thought, I may as well go inside and drown my sorrows in a good book. Same old, same old. The predictabillity of Hogwarts was ceaseless. I pushed open the doors and was greeted with the familiar scent of rotting paper. I had never been in the library at this hour before. It was eerily exciting. The endless rows of books and tables were deserted, covered in a melancholy darkness.  
  
In the far corner of the room, I noticed something peculiar. The fire was lit. Why would anyone leave the fire burning all night in the library? Surely the books didn't need to keep warm. They had lasted through centuries; one bitter winter night wasn't going to hurt them. I suddenly felt a lump of panic in my throat. Was there someone in here? Perhaps a teacher had come out to do some late night reading? For what felt like years I was too frozen to move a muscle. I listened intently, focusing on any sound of human movement, but I heard nothing. At last I moved forward, slowly, cautiously. Each step took minutes, it seemed, for I was careful to remain absolutely silent.  
  
Someone was there. I saw a figure curled up in a blanket by the fire, sitting quite calmly. It was no teacher, I knew. My fears were considerably alleviated and I moved less cautiously toward the figure. "Angelina?" I asked in awe.  
  
She turned her head slowly, and looked back at me with equal surprise. "Hermione?" There was silence and stillness for a moment. She smiled. "Well, go on then, have a seat."  
  
I sat down Indian-style on the floor across from her. I felt immediate warmth from the roaring fire. Nothing was said at first. I'm sure out of everyone in the school, neither of us would have expected the other to be the one you'd bump into in the middle of the night. Good-girl, know-it-all Granger, and the Head Girl. Neither were very likely candidates for out-of- bed, after-hours escapades.  
  
"You've been crying," Angelina said suddenly.  
  
I turned away from the fire and realized she must have been examining my face. "I was a little upset."  
  
She nodded. "It happens. Want a drink?" She held out a metal flask, which I had not previously noticed.  
  
"No thanks," I replied awkwardly. The whole situation was utterly bizarre. Angelina Johson, Head Girl, Quidditch Captain, all-around perfect Gryffindor, sitting in the library well after midnight, curled up with a bottle of liquor. I admit I had seen stranger things, but that didn't prevent me from being less awed.  
  
She smiled slightly. The crisp orange light from the fire lit up her sepia- toned face. "You don't have anything to worry about, Hermione. It's not like I'm going to take points from Gryffindor or anything."  
  
It took me a moment to realize she was being funny. I smiled, too. "Sorry. I'm just so used to staying in 'perfect' mode."  
  
"I know the feeling."  
  
Silence again. I shivered.  
  
"Oh. Here, take this." She unwrapped the blanket she was cozied up in and held it out to me.  
  
I shook my head. "No, I'm all right."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Being self-less and courteous goes along with the whole perfect bit, doesn't it? I can see we won't get far, then, seeing as we both play that part." She moved over at bit, closer to me, and draped the blanket around both of us. "There. Now neither of us will freeze."  
  
I nodded. "That works." I paused. "Er, Angelina? Do you suppose I could ask what you're doing in the library at this hour?"  
  
"I come here alot. It's the one area of the school Filch doesn't frequent; I suppose he thinks not many students would bother sneaking out of bed just to come to the library. I have a bad case of insomnia, I'm afraid, and I hate lying awake in bed. I get some of my best thinking done in here, late at night." She cocked an eyebrow at me. "And what about you? I haven't known you to come here after-hours before."  
  
I shrugged. "Well, as you may have noticed, I was a little upset. I just wanted to be out of the dormitory. I suppose I'm so used to walking the path from Gryffindor Tower to the library that this is where I wound up walking to."  
  
"Ah. I see." She took a swig of her flask and gazed into the fire. "It can get to be too much, all this. Sometimes you just get so caught up in grades and friends and the lot that you just... lose sight of yourself."  
  
I sighed. "You have no idea."  
  
She turned to me, and offered the liquor again. I hesitated, but slowly took hold of it with my hand. She grinned. I held it to my lips and squinted my eyes as I took a quick drink. It was slightly bitter, a combination of spiced tea and vegetable oil. It tasted like something she had mixed herself. I involuntarily shivered again.  
  
Angelina reached behind my shoulder and tried pulling the edge of the blanket tighter over me. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and apparently decided to leave her arm there. She held me with a firm, muscular arm, shaped by years of playing Quidditch. It was rather odd, feeling another girl's body against mine in an embrace. I wasn't sure what to think. I had never had any close girl friends before. Certainly I had not hugged other girls often. I hadn't ever really embraced Ron and Harry, my only friends. I never known a great deal of physical contact with my peers.  
  
I felt her breathing beside me. I never thought I could be so warm in January in the castle, but I was cozy beneath the blanket with Angelina just in front of the library fire. There was no sound but the occasional cracks and pops of the fire and Angelina's deep breaths.  
  
She looked over at me. I felt her gaze on me, as I faced the fire, and I couldn't help but feel a little unnerved. I felt as though she were going to speak, but no words came from her. I couldn't bring myself to turn and look back at her, for fear of making the moment even more awkward.  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asked. Her voice sounded odd to me, thought it was hard to place why. She sounded almost uncertain, vulnerable.  
  
"I'm thinking what assholes Ron and Harry are," I said. I was startled at my own response.  
  
Angelina laughed softly. "Oh, well, they're teenage males. It's to be expected. It doesn't get any better, I can tell you, but you learn to adjust. Fred's all different shades of asshole, but we're great friends anyway."  
  
I nodded, though not in agreement.  
  
"You don't think so?" she asked, spotting my doubt. "What did they say to you?"  
  
"It's not what they said, really, it's just... I don't know. To them it's just teasing, but it really gets to me. Every time they say something stupid to me it makes me realize how little they care about me. They have no idea, you know? They have no idea who I am." I found myself reaching for the flask again, taking another drink even though the taste was anything but pleasant. "I can't say I blame them. No one's ever given a damn about me. And why would they? I'm not like everyone else."  
  
"But that's just why they care about you!" I looked at her. Her enthusiasm puzzled me. "You're so right, Hermione. You're not like everyone else. That's a wonderful thing to be."  
  
I found tears forming again. I choked them back. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? I mean, everyone wants to be unique. But it's not all its cracked up to be. I'd give up individuality any day if it meant finding someone who accepted me. No one's ever cared about me."  
  
She spoke softly. "I'm sure you'll find someone who accepts you for what you are. Someone out there will recognize that you are one of a kind."  
  
The tears flowed gently down my face; I couldn't stop them. "You think so?"  
  
"I know so." She lifted her hand suddenly, and held it to my cheek. She closed her eyes, breathing shakily. She exhaled slowly, eyelids fluttering slightly. "Be what you are," she breathed. "Be what you are, Hermione, because what you are is something beyond what any ordinary person could appreciate. You're too special for the world to understand right away."  
  
I stared at her as her eyes were closed and she held my face in her hand. I didn't know what to think. Her words seemed to go far beyond simple reassurance. No one had ever told me that I was beyond what the world could understand. No one had ever spoken words so passionate to me before. I had never dreamed anyone would say things like that to me, least of all Angelina Johnson. Did she really believe the things she said to me?  
  
She opened her eyes, and we were staring at one another. She leaned in slowly to me, her breath and body inching ever closer to me. Her eyes seemed intent, though her movements were uneasy. It was one of those situations where you know what's going to happen, but at the same time your brain won't register it. So you're still shocked when it happens. I felt my lips preparing for something, even though in my mind I did not know what that something was.  
  
And then things froze. Angelina's eyes were closed, and her face was right in front of mine. Her lips sat poised right beside mine. Her breathing was heavy and erratic, and I could feel it all over my lips. I knew what was going to happen, and I was involuntarily shaking. The back of my mind screamed, This is wrong, this is wrong. But I could not, with all the strength I possessed, motivate myself to move. Angelina drew in one long, deep breath. She pushed her face forward, and I felt her lips brush lightly against mine. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, brushing against them again. My mind raced with so many millions of thoughts that I found myself thinking nothing at all.  
  
She began to move her lips, slowly, patiently. It was not quite a kiss yet. She merely nuzzled my lips with hers. My mind tried to tell me that this was the part where I should either pull away or kiss back, but I found myself unable to either. I was frozen. She lightly sucked on my bottom lip in between her lips. More firmly she pressed into my mouth. I felt as though I were an ice cream cone; she slowly explored the corners of my mouth with her lips, giving each part of it a patient taste.  
  
She cupped her arms behind me in a sort of cradle, resting her hands on my shoulder. I felt her warm, strong body against me as I was slowly laid on my back by her. Parts of me were still proclaiming that this was wrong, this was wrong, but as her lips tangled up in my own and sent all sorts of delicious and horrible thoughts to my mind I could think nothing but, This is right, this is right. I was still too numb to move, but Angelina seemed willing to do all the moving for me. I felt her fingers dig deeply into my shoulder blades as she tasted more and more of my lips. She slid her lithe tongue forward slowly. She lightly pressed it against my lower lip, tracing it back and forth.  
  
I let out a soft moan, unable to understand everything I was feeling at this moment. As my mouth opened her tongue slithered in, and oh, god, if I had thought that the kiss had felt good before, then words could not even describe what I felt now. The rough, wet texture of her tongue rubbed firmly and quickly against my own tongue. She tickled every part of the inside of my mouth, and I felt like she could never reach deep enough into me. Hungry for more of that same sensation, I began to move my own tongue. I could actually feel excitement rush through Angelina, as though she was happy that I was responding to her actions. I massaged her tongue, and found myself exploring every crevice her mouth had to offer.  
  
More, I pleaded inwardly. I've got to feel more of this. Oh, Angelina, you're mouth is... nectareous. I found my lips puckering, as if a fish out of water, sucking in desperately for the liquid which gives it life. I danced all around Angelina's mouth until I felt as though I might pass out for lack of REAL oxygen. We parted for a moment, breathing hard and heavily. Our eyes met.  
  
Our quickened, heavy breaths were deafening as she laid on top of me and stared at me. It seemed appropriate that one of us should speak, but I hoped to God that neither of us would. Words, which I normally depended on in life, would only cloud what seemed to be one of the greatest sensations I'd ever known. I felt a foreign and inexplicable hunger in me. At some point Angelina had thrown her other leg over and was straddling me across my middle. Her soft breasts were pressed into me, and the feeling of her powerful legs locked tightly around me made parts of me tingle.  
  
She placed a wet, hungry kiss on my chin. She tugged at my flesh with the force of her lips, dragging the kiss down the nook of my neck, settling it into my collar bone. She continued to rub her lips forcefully along my collar bone, from one end to the other, over and over again. My breathing became spasmodic and impossible to control as she brought immeasurable pleasure to my flesh. She tugged at the collar of my robes so that she could move lower. She expertly used her tongue and lips together to massage the flesh just above where my breasts began. I knew that I was shaking all over, but the deep fear that flitted through me seemed a small price to pay for such unusual pleasure.  
  
She rubbed her cheek against my chest, moving back up to my neck, where she had started. She buried her face in my neck and I could feel her hot breath on my skin. She moaned almost incoherently through her muffled breaths, "Hermione."  
  
She squeezed my right breast suddenly, digging in her fingers, and released it quickly. She ran the same hand up to my face, brushed her fingers through my tangled mass of bushy brown hair, and moved her lips to mine yet again. Deep, delicious, unprecedented kissing continued as her hands explored me. I constantly felt the sensation of her nimble fingers plunge into my skin, and then her strong hands would proceed to massage me. Her hands passed over my breasts, my shoulders, my back, my stomach, and my thighs many times.  
  
"Hermione, hold me," she whispered as her kisses trailed along my chin.  
  
I lifted my arms from where they had been resting on the ground, and wrapped them around her. I was unsure of what to do at first. Her body struck up curiosity in me as she laid softly against me, and God knows I had the desire to get a better feel for it. But I was still afraid. I was presented with the freedom to explore her body, but I had never done anything like that before with anyone else. I moved slowly, stroking her back. She moaned with pleasure every time I touched her, and I was encouraged. She slid to the side of me some, to give me room to move. I kept one hand placed on her neck, and the other I let wander. I cupped her face in it, and slid it down to rub across her chest. I grazed softly over her breasts, then back up and danced my fingers along her lips. I kept them there, barely touching, as I looked at her face once more.  
  
"Hermione..." she said slowly. "Let's... will you... do you want to make love?"  
  
I froze in fear yet again, completely taken aback by the suggestion.  
  
She must have seen the fear in my eyes, for she spoke quickly. "No! Oh, I'm so sorry, Hermione, I shouldn't have asked that. I got carried away, I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's... it's okay," I managed to tell her. "I just... I don't know... I mean, how...?"  
  
She smiled. "Do you want to?"  
  
I frowned. I didn't know what to say. Did I want to have more of that feeling? Yes, without a doubt. But did I want to make love to Angelina? That was a much harder to question to answer. Were they the same question? My mind had been clouded with too many thoughts and sensations to make sense of it all.  
  
"Just tell me this," she said. "Do you feel the same way I do?"  
  
"I... I think so."  
  
She smiled again, that compassionate smile full of life that she had never seemed to show me before. "Well, then we shouldn't go any further. Not if you think so, only if you know so." She sat up, readjusting her robes. "But when you decide how you feel, I'm here, Hermione. I've always been here... I've just never been able to admit to you what I think of you." She looked at a watch on her wrist. "Dear me. It's awful late. I think we'd better head up to the tower." She gathered up the blanket and stood up.  
  
Her body warmth was gone from me, the moment was gone. I felt much colder than I had when I had first walked into the library. I reached up and grabbed her wrist suddenly. "No," I said. "I don't want to go yet. I want to stay here. With you."  
  
She fell to her knees, and beamed with a whole new kind of smile. She embraced me tightly. "Oh, Hermione," she cooed. "You have no idea how long... how deeply I've wanted to hear you say that." She started kissing me again, but it felt completely new this time. It was deeper, but slower. More patient, almost teasing. She rubbed the palms of her hands sensually down my chest and back up again. On each journey, her hands traveled progressively lower, until they moved all the way down my legs to the hem of my robes. She peeled them off of me, giving special attention to nuzzle every part of me with her face and mouth as she did so. She helped me out of my under garments, and quickly undressed herself as well. Her body was amazing. The Quidditch-molded features of her coffee-and-cream toned skin were accented by the glow of the fire.  
  
Her movements were everything we had experienced before, times ten. Her hands and legs and tongue and mouth all seemed to work as one, taking my body to an unimaginable level of delectation. She was inside me, and all around me, and everywhere at once. I didn't think I could ever get tired of her body against mine, of her travels across the total area of my skin. Every time I touched her skin I felt like I was indulging in a pleasure that was far too great to be mine. She was so soft, and firm, and fresh. Every time I heard her silky voice let out a moan I felt insane happiness flutter through me. Her breath, mouth, and flesh on my skin was almost too much for my brain to take in. My body would not stop shaking and convulsing throughout the stream of endless touching and pleasure.  
  
Let us die, I thought. Let us die right now, just like this, because nothing in the world could ever feel as good as this.  
  
The fire died down and turned to embers. The black sky in the window slowly faded to purple and blue. Angelina had slowed to a halt. She laid beside me and nibbled idly at my ear and cheek. I wanted more, but both of our bodies were exhausted beyond all reason. We pulled the blanket over us, holding our naked bodies close together to keep warm in the cold morning that seemed to be approaching.  
  
"We have to go back to the tower," she tiredly croaked. "It's almost dawn."  
  
"Is it?" I said. I leaned in and planted a stream of kisses along her neck and face and chest.  
  
"Yes." She giggled and reluctantly peeled me off of her. She sat up and search around the floor for her robes. "Get dressed, and we'll sneak back up there."  
  
"But it can't be over yet," I protested.  
  
She smiled as she slipped into her panties. "Well, of course not. It's far from over."  
  
I reluctantly stood up and started putting my clothes back on. When I was dressed, Angelina kissed me softly on my cheek and held me in her arms once more. "Thanks," she said.  
  
"For what? The mind-blowing sex?"  
  
"No." She smirked. "I think I'm the one to be thanked for the mind-blowing sex. I just wanted to thank you for being you. That's all you can ever be in life. That's all any of us can hope to aspire to, is being who we are." She snatched a soft, final, slow kiss. "If you were anything other than what you are... well, for one thing, there'd be one less evening of mind- blowing sex in the world."  
  
She collected her blanket and empty bottle, and the two of us crept in silence through the hall. She continued to the seventh-year dormitory without a word, and I snuck into the fifth-year dormitory. I laid beneath my covers, far from being able to go to sleep. I was physically exhausted, but my mind raced through all the thoughts I had temporarily pushed aside. I went through the night over and over again in my mind, beginning with my argument with Ron and Harry and ending with my last kiss with Angelina. I was suddenly flooded with fear and excitement and confusion. I tried to understand what it all meant, and how it had all happened. My mind was aflurry with thought and felt as though it would explode at any moment. What was I going to do now?  
  
The only thing I can do, I said to myself. Be. 


	2. Or Not to Be

Notes/Warnings: Is this going to be a chaptered story? I don't really think so. Think of this chapter as simply, the flipside of the story. Who knows. I may add on a third perspective and make it a trilogy. Anywho, this chapter contains language, adult situations, self-mutilation, and self- gratification. You have been warned.  
  
It was damned cold that night. I couldn't sleep. The fires roared, but I could still see my breath in front of me as I lay curled beneath my covers. I suddenly became aware of a presence in the room. It was nearly midnight, so I felt a little uneasy. I sat up in bed, and saw a shadow coming nearer to me. It was not until she was inches from my face that I recognized it as being Angelina.  
  
I smiled at her in the dark. "What's up?" I whispered.  
  
"Mind if I borrow that flask of yours?" she asked.  
  
"Sure." I slipped out from beneath the covers, feeling a blast of cold as I did. I quietly opened my trunk, rummaged through it for a moment, and produced a plain metal flask. It contained a strong brew George and I had concocted one day out of boredom. I had never liked the stuff myself much, but Angelina took quite a liking to it.  
  
She took the flask from me and gave me a brief peck on the cheek. "Thanks." She slipped out as stealthily as she had come.  
  
She was going to her quiet place. Angelina had lately taken to midnight journeys to the library. She would sit, sometimes all night, just staring at the fire and sipping wretched homemade liquor. I had gone with her a few times, to provide a little company, but she seemed indifferent to my presence. As I watched her, face aglow from the orange firelight, I knew that these visits were meant to be spent alone. I could only imagine what thoughts were swimming behind her dark eyes. There were times when I would have given anything to have the power to dig into her mind, and see what it was that captivated her so. What place did her mind wander to as she slowly inebriated herself and got lost in the dancing flames of the library fire? I would never know.  
  
I wished that I had the courage to at least ask her about her thoughts. In all the time we spent alone together, in all the years of friendship we'd shared, I'd never been able to just say, "What makes you tick, Angelina?" I never had the strength to reach out and brush my fingers against her smooth, chocolate skin. There wasn't a single day when I didn't curse myself for being so afraid of my own feelings. I was so busy trying to keep my raging hormones from controlling me, stopping myself from making moves on Angelina because we were friends, that I had hardly noticed I'd fallen madly in love with her.  
  
But how to tell her? It seemed like an impossible task. I didn't possess the strength to put it all into words. None of my wit or cleverness could come close to explaining to Angelina the things she did to me. She was my counterpart, my perfect opposite. Her laughter livened my mood and gave me spirit. Her tears gave me the motivation to be strong and be there for her. She was the substance that diluted my concentrated madness and made it the perfect balance. I myself could hardly fathom the sort of power she gave me; how could I possibly make her understand the things that only the dark depths of my mind seemed to comprehend.  
  
I thought about the Quidditch practice we'd had that afternoon. Bloody freezing, and rain on top of that. Angelina kept driving us on, motivating us to keep at it for about two hours, until Madam Hooch came onto the field screaming at us to get our bloody asses down; we'd apparently gone mad to practice in that weather. I thought of the instant, the brief instant, when I touched down beside Angelina and nearly kissed her. Her face was dotted with silvery droplets of water, her crimson robes soaked and dripping. The warmth of her breath was visible in the form of a translucent white puff pouring from her mouth as she breathed. At that moment I thought I would be unable to control myself; in that moment I'd seemed to think I'd go mad if I didn't indulge in her soft brown lips.  
  
I sighed softly. I slipped my hand down and held myself firmly, my mind dancing with visions of a soaking wet Angelina in dark red Quidditch robes.  
  
I slapped my forehead. Get a hold of yourself, Weasley, I thought to myself. I added, And not in the way you're presently doing it. I was only torturing myself. I shouldn't even allow myself to fantasize about her. I knew I would never be able to muster up the strength to approach her, and I shouldn't even let myself suffer the disappointment of those fantasies not coming true. There were no words... NO WORDS to describe the feelings I had. I would never be satisfied with a simple, "I love you," because it felt like so much more. Something along the lines of, I need you. I crave you. I live off your light. I worship you. I'll fucking die if I can't live and breathe you.  
  
I covered my face with my hands. These sort of thoughts were making me positively sick to my stomach. It was late, I was tired, I was freezing my bum off, and all the while thoughts and emotions battled each other within me. I found my own words resonating through my brain like a haunting echo. I'll fucking die if I can't live and breathe you. I'll fucking die if I can't live and breathe you.  
  
I threw my covers off of me, and didn't even notice the cold. Once I put one foot in front of the other, I found myself unable to stop walking. I moved briskly out of Gryffindor Tower, and down the silent halls of Hogwarts. I hardly knew what I was doing; I was driven purely by a force unknown to me. I was going to Angelina, I knew, but what would happen when I got there? Would my words fail me, get caught in my throat? Would she feel the same?  
  
I found myself at the library. The walked had taken ages, and yet it had not taken nearly long enough. I entered and was greeted by the crackling fire and the smell of moldy texts. I was just about to whip around the corner when I had an unnerving realization: there was someone else in the library with Angelina. I grew lost in a mix of hurt, fear, and confusion. I had never thought Angelina brought anyone else to her quiet place, and the idea that she did made me almost jealous. I crept through rows of books to get a better view. I peeked over a shelf and saw something that shattered my heart and mind into pieces.  
  
I saw Angelina cradling Hermione in her arms, pressing their bodies close together. Angelina was breathing heavily into the nape of Hermione's neck panting, "You have no idea how long... how deeply I've wanted to hear you say that." I swallowed hard. My brain went numb as Angelina slowly peeled black school robes and underwear off of Hermione. It was like a sick dream playing out before me. I saw Angelina's body. Her lean muscle and smooth skin, even more exquisite than all of my daydreaming could have cooked up. I saw crevices and curves of girls I had never seen before. I normally would have killed a man to see Angelina bare, but somehow it was all horribly wrong. She intertwined herself with Hermione, and they seemed to be touching each other everywhere at once.  
  
My stomach churned, but I could not tear my eyes away. I watched Angelina's lips, those lips that I'd needed so badly for comfort, move up and down Hermione. I watched the rapid rise and fall of Angelina's chest as she breathed hard on Hermione's skin. I saw Angelina's eyes roll back in her head as she let out moans of deep and unworldly pleasure. There was something radically different about her. She looked exactly the same, and yet she looked bizarrely different. Her face contorted in pain and pleasure, and she screamed in an animalistic way. I was getting hard... my eyes and body seemed to be infinitely pleased by this savage and carnal display of flesh, but those feelings conflicted with that of my aching heart.  
  
The skin. The gasping. The kissing. The touching. It was driving me mad, and yet I had lost all control of my body; I could not make myself move. I kept hearing Angelina's breathy voice groaning, "Hermione." It rang in my brain like a blaring siren. Fury and panic and unprecedented confusion rose up in me. "Hermione!" Angelina called out. It was all a dream. It was all a sick, delicious, poisonous dream. I snapped. I broke into a run, leaving the library, darting through the blackened halls. I found myself unable to stop running until I was in the safe solitude of the Gryffindor common room.  
  
"Love is a bitch," I muttered aloud. I sat on the floor by the fire in my t- shirt and boxers. I didn't dare break my gaze from the fire; images of Hermione and Angelina in positions of ecstasy seemed to come pouring into my mind if I let it wander from anything but the fire. Such rage and sadness and uncertainty were burning in me that I seemed to simply go numb.  
  
I clutched my hands around my own arms, digging my nails into my flesh and thinking vaguely how I'd like to shove a butcher knife through Hermione's face. Warm tears eased down my face; I hadn't noticed it until I'd reached the common room, but I'd been crying the whole time I'd been watching. It was... wrong. Angelina was the other part of me. Angelina was everything I needed to be complete. But as I envisioned her crying out Hermione's name, I knew that she had no earthly idea what she was to me. I thought back on my words. I'll fucking die if I can't live and breathe you.  
  
I crept up to the dormitory, retrieved my wand, and returned to my spot before the fireplace, where I knew I'd have plenty of light. "I'll show her," I said to myself. "Bladus." I touched the tip of the wand lightly with my index finger; it was sharp.  
  
I traced the edge, lightly at first, around the flesh of my forearm. I pressed into my skin, and let out a breath as it penetrated me and ripped a gash in my flesh. The gash quickly filled with crimson blood. In the firelight, I watched it drip ever so slowly along my arm. It had a painful resemblance to wet Gryffindor Quidditch robes. Tears continued to fall; I made a second gash. I lifted my arm to my lips, and kissed it. Red blood smeared around my face and lips. I lapped up the blood, feeling its metallic taste in my mouth, and swallowed. I put the blade in my other hand and made long, shallow cuts along my other arm. My arms, chest, and face were soon lightly bathed in dark red.  
  
Even the pain of breaking my own flesh, even the taste of my own blood, could not force Angelina out of my mind. I thought back with horror and arousal of she and Hermione, locked in a position that looked both saintly and demonic. There voices... their pleasured cries. I ran my bloodstained fingers up and down my chest; I dug my own nails into me. "Angel," I whispered. I reached into my boxers and stroked myself slowly. I swam through images of Angelina's naked body; Hermione's pink tongue brushing against the different parts of Angelina's brown skin. I guided myself in a fierce, rhythmic pattern, back and forth. All I could see was Hermione and Angelina, alone in their little world, pleasing one another and unaware of anyone else in the universe. I felt myself trying to match them. I wanted so badly to have what Hermione had stolen from me.  
  
My free arm flung back to my face, rubbed against my forehead. Blood smeared everywhere. I was sweating. Thoughts of sex and murder and love and hate bled within my head. I saw flesh, rubbing forcefully against each other. I saw sweat, skin, legs, blood, breasts, rain, fire... My breathing grew heavy as I felt myself escalate in pleasure, but it was bittersweet because I knew Hermione was experiencing more than I could ever hope to obtain. Stolen from me. Dreams of love and lust, robbed before I ever even had them.  
  
My breaths and thoughts slowed gradually as I came. What a lunatic I am, I thought coldly too myself as my arms continued to bleed and as tears poured from my eyes. Whoever heard of a guy crying while he gets off? Sounds like something a bloody girl would do. Bloody girls...  
  
But even anger was not enough to cover the emotion I felt that went deeper... despair. I was alone. I was incomplete. Angelina had refused me before I'd ever even had the chance to offer myself to her. What would become of me? What could possibly keep me from going over the edge, now that the one thing true in my world was in the arms of another woman? As long as Angelina wasn't a part of me, I was nothing. I may as well cease to be. 


End file.
